Consequences
by madeinfrance
Summary: "He thinks of what they could have done to her, could still be doing to her, because there's no way they let her go untouched after that, and his hands start to shake as shame, disgust and fear take over. He hates himself." Post-season 1.


_Author's note: I wrote that before season 2 aired, but didn't post it because it wasn't finished. It still isn't, but here's part one. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy._

* * *

"Berlin, sir?"

"Absolutely. There's people there that want to meet you - important people. And as it happens, I need one of my best agents in the heart of the action." He smiles.

Joe never liked that smile. It always makes his stomach flip.

"Will I get to come back?"

"Who knows? Maybe you won't want to. Maybe it will even erase these silly thoughts about resigning."

Images of green eyes and a beautiful smile cross his mind, and he knows this will never happen.

* * *

Despair. Fear. Panic.

There's nothing else as she runs, her heart hammering against her ribcage as she tries to ignore the tremors in every one of her limbs and wills herself to keep going.

 _Faster, Juliana. Faster._

And then a sharp pain tears her head in two, and everything goes black.

* * *

"Welcome in Germany," she welcomes him, handing him his passport back with a smile.

He fails to do the same.

"I hope you enjoy your time in our beautiful country."

* * *

 _Obergruppenführer_ Smith is right: they treat him like a goddamn hero.

"We owe you a great victory, Mr Blake." The man raises his glass, and Joe nods as his companions do the same.

"I only did my job, sir."

"And modest, too! We need more agents like you. You know, you're the kind of man I raise my boy to become."

He barely manages to make it to the marble bathroom before he throws up.

* * *

He doesn't sleep well. Not at all, most nights.

He can't close his eyes without seeing her, standing on the dock as she watches him leave, and the people she just betrayed join her.

For him - she betrayed them for him.

He thinks of what they could have done to her, could still be doing to her, because there's no way they let her go untouched after that, and his hands start to shake as shame, disgust and fear take over.

He hates himself.

* * *

"Well, you seem to have made friends with the right people, Joe. That's excellent work."

"Thank you, sir."

"What about your mission? Are things still progressing as we hoped?"

"They are, sir."

"Perfect. Try and enjoy your new status, now – you've earned it. I'll call you back in a few days. Heil -"

"Wait!"

There's a pause, and for a second, he thinks it's too late.

"What is it, Joe?" Taking an imperceptible breath, he wills his heart to slow down.

"Do you know what happened to her?" He knows his superior understands, but he says it anyway. "Juliana Crain."

He pauses again.

"I thought we talked about this, Joe. She's not a suitable choice for romance."

"I know that, sir, it's just - I just want to know if she's okay," and he closes his eyes at the sound of the desperation in his own voice. "She saved my life - again."

In the few seconds that precede his response, he thinks this is it, that she's dead. He's going to be sick. Then -

"I don't know what happened to her. And you should stop wondering about it."

He hangs up.

* * *

She thinks of him.

Not just him, of course. She sees her mother, cooking diner, complaining about that damn Japanese show they all know she loves as Arnold playfully rolls his eyes. She sees Ed, smiling softly as he pours her coffee. She sees Frank, and his focused expression as he's putting the final touch to his drawing.

But mostly, she sees him. She doesn't know why, but then again, it doesn't seem to matter much.

Sometimes, he's enough to make things a little easier.

* * *

She approches him at a party.

It's not the first time he sees her, at least he doesn't think so. He's seen her look at him on several occasions, but with his sudden raise to fame, that wasn't that surprising.

He doesn't care, anyway.

"You look rather unimpressed, for someone who's attending the party of the century."

German, her accent reveals. Her wavy blond hair frame her porcelain like face in a flattering way as a small smile grace her features. Her eyes are blue, and Joe senses an intelligence emaning from them as their gaze meet.

"I'm not that much of a party guy," he simply says.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I don't know," and at that moment, he realizes that he really doesn't.

Jesus.

"Mysterious, aren't you?," she smirks. Amused, apparently.

She extends her hand. "Nicole Becker - nice to meet you."

"Joe Blake," he says, shaking it politely. "Nice to meet you too."

* * *

Time seems to slow down.

He keeps working on his mission, but every day feels more wrong than the one before. It's not just that he shouldn't there, because he should be somewhere else.

It's that he feels - _knows_ \- that something's not right. That him being here, on a mission that appears more and more as a simple distraction is just _Obergruppenführer_ Smith's way of keeping him out of the way, for some reason. Why, he doesn't know.

But he tries to ignore his instincts. He has to, because he has no other choice, anyway. There's Buddy. There's Rita. There's Juliana – at least he hopes so. Smith has their lives between his powerful hands.

Joe has nothing.

And so he just keeps going, praying to whoever listens to protect them – and to let him go home as soon as possible.

* * *

The days pass, turn into weeks.

He's going insane.

* * *

He sees her a lot.

As a propaganda film maker, she's bound to run in the same circles as he does, of course, but he thinks she's not exactly trying to fight it, either.

He's right.

"I think I like you, Joe Blake," she tells him one day.

Who knows. Maybe he likes her too.

(He knows he should, because it would be much easier to.)

* * *

She kisses him.

After a few seconds, she pulls away, both hands on his chest. A small chuckle escape her, and he frowns.

"Who is she?"

"Who?," he asks, but he knows.

Of course he knows.

"Come on, Joe," she chuckles.

And, for a reason unknown even to him, he does – he tells her.

* * *

He's glad he did, because as it turns out, Nicole saves them - saves her.

Juliana.

Everything goes so fast. He's in the American ambassy when he hears it: she's their captive. He doesn't how, or when, but they got her, locked up in New-York – at their mercy.

His blood runs cold.

And then, she helps him: using her money and connections, she gets him on a plane with everything he needs to arrive safely and go help her. He doesn't have the words to thank her.

"Don't get emotionnal, Blake," she smirks as they say goodbye. "Now off: you have a life to save."

* * *

Despite his so called national hero status, he knows they won't let him in easily, if at all. Not where he needs to go, at least.

He has considered every option.

Convincing _Obergruppenführer_ Smith than he can make her talk. Making him realize that she can't tell them anything because she simply doesn't _know_ anything. Luring Smith and most of the heavy arms out of the building, in some way, and sneak in. Pretending that he has the authority to interrogate her, and ordering the guards to let him talk to her. Killing every single one of them until he can reach her.

That one is tempting. So tempting, because he knows – he knows what they're making her go through down there. Never has anything else make his blood boil with rage so much.

In the end, he figures the sneaking in option is the better one. More accurately, the less likely to end in a disaster. He knows the building and the way things go there enough to make it work.

It has to.

* * *

He's been waiting for almost two hours when one of them enters the parking lot. The uniform is finally the right one: clearance enough that he probably – hopefully – doesn't have to identify himself at every corner, but not important enough that they would know instantly that Joe has stolen his identity just by looking at his jacket.

He doesn't hesitate.

Making sure there's nobody else around, he soundlessly make his way behind him – and end it. He doesn't want to, but there's no other choice. He needs to make sure she gets out of there.

A shudder goes through him as he feels the life leave the man's body, but he keeps going. More than ever, time is of the essence. His movements are automatic as he starts the plan he's been repeating in his head over and over again.

Exchange of clothes. Body in the truck of the man's car. Cap and head low, at all times. His heart is beating faster than it probably ever did as he makes his way up the stairs.

As he heads for the detention quarters, it occurs to him for the first time that she might already be dead.

The thought almost make him stop dead in his tracks, but he catches himself just in time, and the men coming his way distractingly salute him as they pass by him, unsuspecting. He feels nauseous.

 _Now is not the time, Joe._

It feels like forever, but he finally makes it. And it's horryfying.

The whole floor is cold. Dark. So full of despair, you can taste it. But that's not the worst. The worst are the screams.

It's a man, he realizes after a second. The cries coming out of him are piercing through his skin, but Joe can't linger on that, because he also realizes that this is the best and only chance he will get.

The man they're beating and trying to move out of the cell is putting up a fight, encouraged by his companions of misery in the adjacents rooms. They're dozens, at least, and it occurs to him that something must have happened during his absence, something that the Obbergruppenfuhrer took good care of hiding from him.

By the sound of it, they all seem like resistants, though, so the Reich probably intensified the with hunt against them.

He can't worry about that right now. Right now, the only thing he's focused on as he passes by the cell and looks through the holes in the doors is his search for her green eyes and caramel skin.

"Care to give us a hand there?," one of the men yells at him as three of them try to control a woman, who's apparently being taken somewhere else. Another one taken upstairs shouldn't raises any suspicion, then.

The timing is perfect: he needs to act – now.

"I can't," he answers coldly as he walks past them. "I have my own orders," and he hears one of them swear behind him.

Four cells down, five, six, and panic starts to raise in his chest when he still doesn't spot her. _Maybe it did happen_. Seven, eight. _Maybe they killed her_. Why would they keep her alive, after all? It was -

And then, she's here. The screams and shouts mere meters away from him suddenly fade away for a second as he takes her in, sitting against the wall with her head between her hands, trying to block out the sounds of what's going on around her.

She's thin, he immediately notes – alarmingly thin. The piece of clothing they put on her is shriedded, and all but hangs on her. He can't see her face clearly, and it seems like they've taken everything that makes her her away, but there's no doubt.

It's her.

Ignoring the things unravelling deep in his stomach, Joe shakes himself and moves to open the door - except he doesn't have the keys. Shit.

He can't go back, won't go back, and doesn't have the time. So, he does the only thing he can do.

Poker face.

"Key!," he yells at the men. Some of them have already taken the first man out, while others have come in to try another one out of his cells. The others are still fighting the woman, who doesn't give up despite the punches.

There's a slight moment where the soldiers just look at him. Their uniform clearly indicates that they're beneath who he is supposed to be, though, and he doesn't hesitate. "Now!"

After a slight hesitation, one of them comes running, and Joe only glares at him as he unlocks the door before going back to help his comrades.

He did it.

His hand shakes slightly as he opens the door. She looks up at the metallic sound, and, again, he has to force himself back to reality.

For a second, there's only pure terror behind her beautiful eyes. Of course there is: God only knows what being taken out of her cell has meant for her all this time. But then something clicks, and her face is almost unreadable as recognition finally hits her.

Confusion. Fear. Surprise.

She looks so vulnerable, all he wants to do is hold her, just like he did that night in Canon city. Tell her it's going to be okay. That he'll make sure of that.

Not yet, trough.

Before she can say anything, he walks towards her and helps her get up as gently as he can. He winces when she has trouble just doing that.

Not able to help herself, he quickly turns to check that no one is watching them, then runs his hand against her cold cheek, briefly settling it on her neck as he tries to reassure her.

"Follow my lead, okay?," he whispers. She still seems so scared. "I'm getting you out of here."

Her eyes are so unfocused, so lost he can't know for sure she even understands what he's saying, but he grabs her by the arm – thin, too thin – and drags her across her cell and into to the corridor.

He doesn't stop, but makes sure to send a look of disdain towards the soldiers to maintain whatever cover he build up. He hopes they don't notice the way his fingers are slightly shaking.

* * *

They don't.

* * *

As soon as they've passed the door to the staircase, he runs.

His hand his holding hers now, gentle but firm as he drags her with him, trying not to hurt her anymore than she is and yet hurry her.

"Come on, Juliana. We're almost there."

They're only one floor away from the parking lot floor when a door opens somewhere above them. Joe immediately presses their bodies against the wall, an arm across her stomach to keep her there as his heart tries to escape his chest. To his relief, the voices quickly disappear, and, meeting her eyes briefly, he laces their fingers together again and bring her down the last stairs.

When they get to the car of the man whose identity – and life - he's stolen, he opens the back door for her.

"Lay down and cover yourself with this," he tells her as he hands her the jacket he arrived in. The same one she slept in once, so long ago.

She's crying now, silent tears running down her cheeks, but she nods and does as she's told. Glancing worriedly at her hidden figure, he gets into the driver seat. "We're getting out of here," he whispers again as he starts the engine.

"I promise."

* * *

For the first thirty minutes of the drive, neither of them talk. He stops in a quiet corner of a small forest outside of town where he parked a car earlier. Trying to push away the thought of the man dead in the truck – Ivan, his ID said – Joe opens the door of the stolen car for her.

For the first time since he's found her, he can properly look at her.

And he does: her small hand in his as he helps her stand, he looks for any injury, any wound that would need immediate care, his eyes frenetically travelling on every inch of her body. Hers don't, though.

As he finally meets her gaze, she's looking straight at him, her eyes never leaving his face. She smiles, then, a small, teary smile, but it's genuine, and he smiles back because it feels like a heaviest weight has been lifted off his chest.

She's sobbing a little when she snakes her arms around his neck and burries her face there, and Joe closes his eyes. He knows that they don't have much time, that they need to get going as soon as possible, but for a few seconds, he allows himself this.

Her.

She tightens her hold on him, and, careful not to hurt her, he does the same.

"You okay?" It's a stupid question, of course, but he has to know. "I mean, considering," and she chuckles a little as she pulls away.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she nods, wiping the tears from her cheeks before he can.

Her voice is soar, but God, it's so good to hear it again. "Let's just get out of here."


End file.
